With Great Power Comes Great Responsibility

Brooke was cool, and chill. Things didn't get under her skin, because she didn't think about them too hard. They were unnecessary worries, if she couldn't change anything, then there was no use in thinking about it.

So she didn't ponder her sudden excellent, more than excellent if she was honest, vision. Nor did she wrack her mind for an explanation of her sudden location.

Nothing was going to be answered by sitting around in a stupid, so she set out. In an opposite direction, away from what she was quite sure was a dragon, of course.

Brooke strolled into the heavily wooded forest, branches immediately snagging her cardigan and within a few feet, the floor, shrouded in snarled undergrowth, produced enough small branches to herald her coming with tell tale snaps.

On the edge of being bothered, Brooke wrestled her bulky cardigan out of the branches' grasp and off her shoulders, tieing it around her waist, where only the thinner branches could make an attempt. Leaving her in a tank top and crocheted sweater, she marched on, occasionally wincing at just how loud her footsteps were.

Her first true obstacle, as crunching branches and thorny shrubbery were only occupational hazards when one was to tromp through the woods, was a felled tree. By this time, weaving around suspiciously colored vines and making her own path in this forest that was truly claimed by nature, Brooke was well and truly lost. The sun was shrouded by the thick canopy of leaves overhead, and her only guiding beacon had been 'forward'.

Her shoulders slumped and a huff of frustration escaped her. Hugging her arms to herself, Brooke began muttering as she scanned the area, "the only way forward is back. This isn't good, I can't go back if I ever want to see anything but trees."

Glaring at the log, Brooke decided that this did really and truly bother her, and she should let it know.

"If only you weren't here! What are you even doing, lying there, how are you contributing anything! You're just a hazard, being so big and" she waved a hand ineffectively, "impassible".

Giving in to her more childish instincts, Brooke tossed a swift kick at the log, pulling back any real force to ensure the unscuffed surface of her sketchers.

With a crack unlike anything she had heard before, like the breaking of thunder, the fallen tree, as tall as her before, split down the middle and fell to either side, the equal trunks clearing a path for her through the forest for a good few hundred feet.

Once her ears ceased ringing and the great plumes of dirt had settled down, Brooke may have been breathing a little faster than usual. Just a little.

One, two, three. One, two, three, again.

Brooke screwed her eyes shut and clenched her fists, "What would... What would Spiderman do?" She thought for a moment, "No, no, he's not exactly a glistening example of sound and logical decisions after being handed a great deal of power. What would,... Pepper Potts do?"

Brooke relaxed her tense posture and carefully began stretching her muscles. Opening her eyes, she stared at the destruction she was once again responsible for creating, "There's a path ahead. Pepper Potts would keep moving forward."

Able to dispense of obstacles rapidly now, and discovering that the snagging branches were not much of a hindrance if she kept moving, as they simply tore off with seemingly no resistance, she was able to move at a much faster clip. Although her throat became sore with thirst, and her stomach began to rumble ominously, Brooke found throughout the hours, that she did not tire.

And it did take hours. By the time the trees began thinning and the undergrowth gave way to reveal hard packed dirt, the sun that managed to filter through the leaves barely speckled the ground. Seeing the end in sight, Brooke started into a jog, the ground flying beneath her feet disorientingly fast.

She broke through gnarled shrubbery, the forest ending abruptly, and skidded to a halt.

The edge of the forest was situated on a cliff, overlooking a small town. The waning light cast the stone building and fabric canopies in hues of violets and pastel pinks.

Brooke sauntered through the town, unheeding of the stares given by the townsfolk for not just her unusual dress, but for being covered head to toe in dirt from her slide down the near vertical cliff face. She had not a bruise, felt no pain from the journey, and most importantly of all, knew nobody in this strange and unfamiliar place, and consequently so, felt no shame in her appearance. In fact, quite the opposite, she was grinning ear to ear, adrenaline from the drop, something she never would have dared at home, was coursing through her veins, making her feel more alive than vodka ever dared.

A piercing voice cut through the air, causing a lute player to pause mid-strum,

"What do you mean you don't know what American Express is?!" A beat passed, "Cash? You don't take cash?! What kind of scam are you running?!"

Brooke glanced her appearance in a passing window, hair matted with dirt and partial leaves twisted up hopelessly in her locks, sweater now frayed from brambles, and her jeans torn beyond fashionable. Her sketchers, oh her sketchers were no longer the gleaming white she had striven to keep them at for the past few months, but a dingy brown, stained and dark from the sparse puddles she had plowed through.

Hands tremoring, Brooke unfolded the cardigan from her waist and pulled her arms through the sleeves, praying that it covered up some of the damage.

Then, she threw her shoulders back and walked forward calmly to face the music.

At a booth across the bazaar, caramel waves bounced energetically, being tossed by the frantic hand or moved by the weaving and bobbing of the body it was attached to, the person's movements detailing their frustration as much as their words.

As Brooke neared, the figure moved aside, and she was able to see the shopkeeper in sharp definition. Their dark blue skin had an iridescent sheen to it, face beset by deep furrows and inlaid evergreen eyes, shimmering like jewels with an unsettling internal light. They were not short, but stout, their heavy tunic and sturdy roped trousers cutting a sharp contrast to the gleaming pendant pinned to where their heart would lie beneath, were they a human. Which they certainly were not. Setting aside the unusual skin tone, from underneath a cap protruded large floppy ears that twitched in irritation every time the haggler's voice pitched higher.

The shopkeeper pointed at the haggler's coat and said something unintelligible.

The person recoiled in disgust, "This! This is Gucci!"

Brooke waved uselessly at the person's back. Clearing her throat, "Oh hi Chloe."

Chloe spun around, her irate glare not abating for Brooke. Arcing her arm demonstratedly she heatedly laid out, "He wants me to trade my Gucci, for a room in the inn, because they," She pitched her voice even higher in parody, to the displeasure of the unamused shopkeeper, "Don't accept foreign bits of tender. They don't accept any of my money. Which means I'll starve," she glared at the shopkeeper again, "but at least I'll die with a roof over my head!"

The shopkeeper slammed his hand down on the wooden table, which let out an ominous creak, and bit out more words that were incomprehensible to Brooke.

With a flair, Chloe rolled her eyes and spit back, "Well it would have been nice to know before that guests receive complementary meals at your 'tavern' or whatever for the length of their stay!" She growled and shucked her coat, shoving it at the shop— well now more accurately innkeeper.

His unfriendly countenance melted away and he grinned merrily, reaching underneath the table to retrieve a key with a tag on it and handed it to Chloe, who snatched the key and stalked away to what was presumably the inn.

Brooke easily caught up to her and keeping exactly two steps behind, dared to ask, "What was that?"

Chloe yanked the heavy door open with effort, striding inside, ignoring the fireplaces and settings set out for guests, and headed straight for the staircase tucked away in the corner of the lobby. She seemed to not hear her, so Brooke readied herself to ask again, when Chloe reached to first step of the spiral and spoke, "What was what?"

Her tone was testy, and in another situation, Brooke may have abandoned the topic, but in this new unfamiliar place with its new unfamiliar rules, maybe their personal rules could change too.

"That conversation. What language was that?"

Chloe heaved a sigh and started climbing the stairs, expecting Brooke to be right behind her, as always, to catch her next barb, "It's bartering, Brooke. Do keep up."

They had reached the landing by the time Brooke had gathered herself to continue to push the subject, "I'm sure it was, but how were you able to understand him?! It was complete nonsense to me."

Chloe turned to face Brooke, "What are you—"

"I believe what the lady was trying to say, is that she does not possess the same gift of Allspeak as you. What may make complete sense to you, well, her talent may lie in areas other than language." A smooth voice interjected.

A man, who was leaned up against a doorframe and yet still taller than Brooke, eye level with Chloe, nodded to each of them before straightening up. His dark ember robes flowed around him, snapping precisely into place once he had stopped moving.

He talked over Chloe's outraged, "How many times do I have to tell you to fuck off you creep?!", and took Brooke's hand. Bowing slightly over their joined hands, he released his light grip and introduced himself,

"I am Gloriosa, though you may call me," he paused at a particularly scornful snort from Chloe, "…Glory." Motioning at the door he asked, "Now may we all go inside, ours is hardly a discussion for the hallway, and besides, some guests may also like to utilize their quarters."

Chloe jammed the key into the locked door, conveniently the same one that Glory had been resting upon, and pushed inside, petulantly flopping onto the only bed.

Glory closed the door after everyone was inside and folded himself gracefully on the clean wooden floor, gazing at Chloe steadily. Brooke situated by the window, folding in on herself in a self-conscious effort to not spread the grime she brought with her, and for the first time since waking up that day, wishing for a bath. Her stomach grumbled lowly but she paid it no heed.

Glory took out a small pouch that had been hidden by his outer cloak and stated peacefully, "We have to talk about your magic."

Through a couple years of sleepovers, Brooke made out Chloe's muffled, "I don't have any," from where she was shoving her face into a pillow.

Patiently Glory started taking a few items out of his bag, a twig, a clear pouch of white dust, and a charcoal pencil. "You possess the ability to talk to all living creatures that have created a language. That innate ability itself shows great magical potential. It would usually take years of study to gain the mastery you take for granted."

Chloe threw her arm in the air and waggled it vaguely in Brooke's direction before flopping it back down onto the bed. "Give it to her or something. I don't care, I don't want it."

Glory questioned, "How do you think magic works exactly?"

Chloe huffed, "I say some magic words, wave a stick, and things happen?"

Glory's mouth hung open, "That's not how this works! That's not how anything works. Magic is a skill, an artform that takes years to even get a grasp on. Its runes, and materials, and knowledge. Each spell is unique, and it takes the how and the why to even try to make the what happen." He picked up the clear bag, whispered a few words under his breath, and held his other hand steady over the twig. The white dust inside faded, Glory's hand glowed soft teal for a split second, and the twig twitched, spitting out neat perfect replicas of itself, until twenty twigs lined up in two neat columns.

He picked up one twig, "This is the raw material for the most basic spell, and often the first one most magic users learn, the repair spell. A spell is different to each being, it is personalized. The groundwork for the spell is in here," he tapped the side of his head, "but the activation code is decided by the magic user. For example," he snapped the twig in half and pointed to the crack in the window pane, "Orchid." The twig halves dissolved, and the glass healed, leaving it unmarred.

Through the course of the explanation, Chloe had moved closer to the edge of the bed, now scrutinizing Glory.

He tilted his head to the side and stared back, unperturbed, "I can't force you in the end, this has to be your decision." He selected a twig from the pile and offered it to the brunette, "Would you like to learn?"

The three of them were finally sitting on a wooden bench at the tavern, digging into roasted meat of something, and letting the idle chatter of the room wash over them.

Brooke stared at a heated discussion happening a few tables away. She could hear the words perfectly, but their translation remained a mystery.

Chloe jostled Brooke as she rooted around in her pocket, gaining her attention when she pulled out a twig.

Chloe broke the stick and deadpanned at Brooke, "Fix This," completely ignoring Glory's wail of

"That's not how it works!"

The two shared a small smile at his distress and Brooke once again zeroed in on the strangers.

"And that's when I told him where he could shove it! Trying to use lower quality woods on my wife's carriage?! I don't think so! And then—"

Now sporting an ecstatic grin, Brooke relaxed, tearing off a piece of meat and reveling in the legible chatter filling the tavern.